For some last fruit that hung there. My dog, too,
My old blind Simon, him who had no tail,
They murdered—God’s red anger seize them!
CATHLEEN.
I know how pears and all the tribe of apples
Are daily in your love—how this ill chance
Is sudden doomsday fallen on your year;
So do not say no matter. I but say
I blame the famished season, and not you.
Then be not troubled.